The Haunted - Jessica Verday [55]
Katy spoke up. “As for me, everything changed when Ichabod Crane came to town. He gave me singing lessons and seemed very interested in me. I tried to remain kind in my refus-als of his attention, though.”
“Bah. That proud peacock knew you were no more going to choose him than that bag of bones Brom,” Nikolas said.
I leaned forward, looking back and forth between the two. “Wait. I thought Brom Bones was the sturdy one and Ichabod Crane was the skinny one. That’s what the legend says.”
“Yes,” Katy said. “That’s how it was written, but as we told you before, the legend was changed from reality. Most notably the ending, to protect Nikolas and me, but other aspects were changed as well.”
“Then one day I saw her and fell instantly in love,” Nikolas replied.
“I was not very pleased by that,” Katy said. “I thought I was having fits or a case of the va-pors, seeing things that no one else could see. Thank goodness I never told anyone. They would have sent me to a convent.” A faraway look came into her eyes. “Although I did often think about telling Father. I always thought that he might be the one person to understand.” She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Imagine having a lovesick ghost as your constant companion. I threw my needlepoint at him, my books at him, even my slippers at him! But he followed me everywhere. Then Brom pulled that silly stunt, dressing up like a headless horseman, and chased Ichabod over the bridge.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“Ichabod left town, and Brom married someone else. Eventually I was able to woo the fair Katrina, and she said she loved me,” said Nikolas.
“So you never married Brom?” I asked Katy.
She shook her head no. Pushing her needles to the side, she stood up. “I think I will make the tea now, if that is agreeable with you?”
I nodded.
As she passed by Nikolas, he reached out an arm, and she took his hand, gently kissing the back of it. A twisting sensation filled me, and I looked away.
Sounds filled the kitchen as she started to prepare the tea—the scrape of a bowl being moved, a cabinet door banging open, water filling the kettle. There wasn’t a fire in the hearth this time, since it was summer, but Katy put the metal teapot onto an old stove. When she turned the knob, a fine ring of blue fire lit up under the burner, and she came back to sit at the table.
I still had so many questions. “How was Washington Irving involved in all of this? Besides writing the story.”
Nikolas was the one to answer. “He played in the cemetery as a little boy and had a pen-chant for telling stories, even as a lad. I was his companion, and we spent hours talking together. He grew up listening to our story. I was honored when he asked me if he could write it down.”
“Washington Irving could see you? How?”
“He was one of us. A Shade.”
I looked at Katy. “Could he see you, too? Is he still, um… here? Somewhere?”
“Oh yes, he could see me, too. We talked fairly often. But he didn’t stay. His love moved on, and then so did he.”
“Wow.” I said. “So you guys are like really old then, huh?” They both laughed. “Yes,” Katy replied. “I suppose we are rather old.” The teakettle whistled, and she got up to remove it from the stove.
“What about the other stuff ?” I looked down at the table, suddenly unsure of what I was asking. “With Caspian… the boy from the cemetery.” I thought back to the last time I had seen them, right before I left for Aunt Marjorie’s. “You told me that he was a Shade like you—because of the black streak in his hair. What exactly is a Shade?”
“A Shade is just a name we’ve given ourselves. We’re like shadows, living within the shade of real life. I think it fits,” Nikolas said.
“Why not just call yourselves ghosts?”
“We are different from ghosts,” said Katy. “It’s hard to explain, but we are.” Nikolas stood up and went to gather the small silver pots that held sugar and honey. Katy poured the tea into three teacups and brought two of them over to the table, and Nikolas followed closely